


Imprints

by girahimu_sama



Series: Unfinished Business-verse [3]
Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!, Yu-Gi-Oh! Series
Genre: M/M, Thiefshipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-29
Updated: 2017-04-29
Packaged: 2018-10-25 11:59:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10763829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girahimu_sama/pseuds/girahimu_sama
Summary: Malik felt like home. (Sequel to Headlong)





	Imprints

**Author's Note:**

> Wow I wrote another one. Big surprise. Anyways I'm done with this please just take it, it ended up way longer than I expected.
> 
> Also it contains references to DSOD. I really shouldn't have to put a spoiler warning for that. DSOD is up online in both sub and dub so go watch it. LIKE THE DESCRIPTION SAYS it's a sequel to Headlong, which is a sequel to Unfinished Business, so read thos first mayhaps if you haven't.

Bakura had thought his imprints on the world would have been contained to scars, emotional and physical – a resin spire through the back of a hand, a knife to the bicep, the sharp sting of betrayal, of loss, of destruction.

 

A different sort of destruction had consumed him. If scars could heal, then perhaps the soul that had inflicted them could as well. What he did now was as constructive as it was complete havoc. Painting over the lines, streaks of gold and white and crimson smeared this way and that. Like knew soil being laid down, he'd cover the old mistakes, sweep over the dried acrylic with a fresh coating. Again, covering, vibrant colour where it was once dull. Covering, fingers dashing away imperfections. Covering, destroying, healing.

 

It was a mark unlike anything he'd left before, even if it was only for himself. He occupied space, flesh and blood and bones instead of an intangible essence locked inside metal. He occupied space and his fingers – his fingers, not Ryou's – could birth something into existence that was not mere pain, not misery, but simply _was_.

 

He didn't know how or when such things became a comfort to him, and he cursed Malik for enabling his hobby. It couldn't even be called 'his' hobby because he'd only started picking up the pencil while in Ryou's body, his memory failing him on when that had become a reality. He didn't want to think about it. He didn't want to think about Ryou as much as his former host didn't want to spare him a thought.

 

Perhaps that was why he found himself so absorbed in the canvas laying before him. No thought, only mindless destruction and building from the rubble.

 

He didn't notice Malik enter the room, only turning his attention from what he was doing when his housemate stood beside him and peered over his shoulder. Bakura sat on the floor in nothing but a pair of boxers, flecks of colour dotting his legs, arms, chest, and even his face. The canvas lay flat on the floor as he hunched over it, looking like it couldn't hold much more paint. Brushes had been tossed away long ago and his hands were completely covered.

 

“Having fun?” Malik snorted, wishing Bakura had laid down newsprint or something. At least he was on the tile of the kitchen and not the carpet.

 

Bakura huffed and sat back, glaring at the offending piece of 'art'.

 

“Nothing is coming out the way I want it to.”

 

“I’ve never seen you use colour before. Or paint for that matter,” Malik mused.

 

Bakura shrugged, obviously not seeing the need to justify himself. He moved his arm, accidentally knocking over a bottle. The dark red paint that spilled out looked like a puddle of blood. Instead of going for paper towels to wipe it up, Bakura planted his palm in the thick of it and used the opportunity to slap the canvas a bloody, handprint shaped signature, grinning sinisterly all the while. Malik wrinkled his nose.

 

“… Seriously? Are you five?”

 

Bakura threw him a helpless look, appearing like he'd committed a murder with his bare hands.

 

“What? I’ll clean it up when I’m done.”

 

“You better,” Malik growled. “If there’s a stain, I’m going to kill you.”

 

“Really, after all that work to bring me back?” Bakura blinked at him angelically .“At least make it creative. ‘Kill’ is a little non specific, and dying gets a little dull after a while.”

 

Malik's phone chose to ring at that moment. He stepped away from Bakura, staring down at the caller ID.

 

“Smartass. Keep it quiet for a bit.” Malik walked over and took a seat on the couch, bringing the phone to his ear. “Hey, sister.”

 

Bakura glanced over at him, eyes narrowing when he realized it was Isis on the line.

 

“Yeah, I’ve been fine… Oh, is that so.” Malik kept the scowl out of his voice as he spoke. “No thanks. I’ve had enough of Kaiba and Duel Monsters. Knock yourself out though.” His brows rose. “So you’ll be in town for a while?”

 

As Malik continued to converse with her, Bakura stood up to wipe his hands off, washing them clean in the kitchen sink. He heard Malik bid his goodbyes and trotted over with a snort.

 

“You ready to break the news to her or should I make myself scarce?”

 

Malik shrugged.

 

“She can deal with your revival however she wants.”

 

“What was that about Kaiba?”

 

An amused smirk crossed Malik's face and he merely shook his head. “Just his usual nonsense. Nothing to worry about.”

 

Bakura's expression became grave, no humour left in it. “If he has the power to resurrect the dead I’d say it’s something to worry about.”

 

Malik sensed his shift in mood and the smirk dropped off of his face.

 

“He doesn’t have that power.” Malik actually wasn't sure just what abilities the Quantum Cube possessed, but if it was the Pharaoh Bakura was worried about, he was certain there was no reason to pay it any mind. “Dragging an unwilling soul out of the Afterlife is almost impossible.”

 

Or Malik hoped it was. He didn't want to deal with a revived Pharaoh either.

 

“You did it with me,” Bakura pointed out.

 

“But you weren’t in the Afterlife, were you?” Malik stared at him for a long time, waiting for Bakura to argue with him on that, but all he was met with was silence.It had been touchy subject ever since they'd returned from… Malik wasn't even sure where it was or what it was. Some alternate dimension made to be Bakura's personal hell perhaps.

 

He heaved a sigh, not wanting to think about it. It was horrible imagining him in that sort of limbo, unable to pass on.

 

“All of that doesn’t matter now. I’m just glad you’re here.”

 

…

 

“I still can’t believe Kaiba dug up the Puzzle.”

 

Bakura sat on the couch, the laptop sitting on the coffee table before him. Displayed was footage from one of Kaiba's tournaments months ago. Bakura scrubbed through it, a grim determination set in his eyes.

 

“From what I heard, the Ring also got mixed up into everything as well, but I don't know how,” Malik said.

 

There were many different cameras capturing the duel from various angles. A flash of light then lit up all of them before all views suddenly went dark. Only one camera came back on, showing the arena in ruins. There was an odd static making it hard to see what was happening, but Bakura recognized it for what it was – shadow magic interfering with the technology.

 

Bakura used the arrow keys to click through the video frame by frame, a nightmarish form soon becoming visible, pulling itself from the darkness. There was the unmistakable glint of gold around its neck.

 

“There,” Bakura breathed, eyes fixed on the shape of the Millennium Ring. Even if the footage quality was bad, he knew without question that it was the real thing. He could almost feel it, having been so bonded with the Item. His voice was hushed, a cold sweat breaking out all over his skin. “… This is unbelievable.”

 

“Did you know the Ring could do that?” Malik said, equally as horrified by the sight even though he'd seen the footage before.

 

“… No.”

 

It was a truthful answer, but a hesitant one. He thought he'd known the Item he'd resided in for millennia, but only just now he was being proven wrong.

 

“When I saw this footage, I was afraid that…”

 

“That thing was me,” Bakura finished for him. He shook his head, brushing his bangs out of his face. “Maybe it was. I don’t remember things clearly.”

 

Malik shot him a borderline incredulous look but Bakura merely shrugged.

 

“My soul has been split so many times I kind of lose track of where parts end up.” He really didn't like the look Malik gave him when he said that, but he continued on. “… Then again, of all the Items, the Ring has a darkness unique to itself. I’d felt it ever since I first put the damn thing on.”

 

Bakura snorted, gesturing to the creature that used to be Aigami, or Diva, or whatever his name was.

 

“I don’t know why this idiot thought he could control it.”

 

He let the footage continue on at its normal speed, watching stonefaced as Yugi and Kaiba faced off against the warped beast. And then Kaiba fell and Yugi was left all alone. Total world destruction seemed imminent, closer than ever before – and yet it meant nothing to Bakura. What would he gain from this? The Millennium Ring had gone rogue, and perhaps it never needed him in the first place.

 

When all seemed lost, a brilliant golden light broke through the clouds and struck the stadium floor. Bakura watched blankly as the Pharaoh stepped forward to give the monster the final blow. What surprised him was how apathetic he felt. This battle meant nothing to him. He'd been completely removed from the conflict, a game piece cast off the board.

 

The video came to an end and Bakura slumped back in his seat, staring up at the ceiling, an odd, far away look in his eye. “Pharaoh saves the day again, huh...?”

 

A hand touched his shoulder, and he didn't need to look to see Malik there, concerned as always.

 

“Bakura...”

 

“I'm going for a walk.”

 

Bakura pushed himself off the couch and stood, making a beeline for the door. He didn't look at Malik the entire time, leaving him alone in the living room.

...

 

“What are you doing?”

 

Malik glanced up from the laptop screen, surprised to see Bakura there. He had a way of sneaking up on his housemate, even when doing mundane things such as going to the kitchen for snack food.

 

“Oh, it was just... something I've been working on for a while now.” Malik said, feeling weirdly defensive over the document he was typing up. It was Bakura's past, or what he'd told him of it, spilled over pages and written into existence. He pushed his chair out from the counter he'd been working at, allowing Bakura to see.

 

“It was sitting in my drive for a long time... I actually had it started not long after you told me about the Items. I planned on working on it more but... I guess I wasn't willing to accept the fact that you were gone.”

 

Bakura's expression was unreadable and closed, but the edges were slowly beginning to come apart as he began to comprehend what Malik was doing for him.

 

“I was going to ask you to look through it and tell me if I got everything right. There's almost nothing about the origins of the Items in tombkeeper records... or you and your village. As the head of the clan, I have the power to change that. Just...” The hand that Malik had rested on the kitchen island clenched into a fist. It always made him angry. History was written by the winners indeed. As far as anyone knew, Bakura had never existed. His village had never existed. But Malik could change that. “It's not right that it was all buried.”

 

“Malik...”

 

“When I'm done with this, it will be transferred into the archives. I was going to send this to my sister because she usually goes through all the records anyway.”

 

“Malik.” Bakura said again, tone quiet and charged. Malik still wasn't looking at him, however.

 

“Oh yeah. Speaking of which, her and Rishid are coming over today. I know you don't care but I thought I'd give you a heads up. They already know you're here, so there won't be any surprises.”

 

“Malik.”

 

Malik turned his head only for a palm to cup his face and a pair of warm lips to press against his own. The kiss was firm, as though Bakura were trying to engrave all of his gratitude into the simple gesture where words had failed him.

 

Malik's eyes widened, soon slipping closed as the shock melted away. It was all too easy to tilt his head and kiss back, hand idly gripping at the chair backing, but then Bakura was pulling away all too quickly.

 

“I don't know why I did that,” he muttered, eyes anywhere but on Malik.

 

“You don't, huh?” Malik raised a brow, pushing himself to his feet. Bakura's back hit the fridge, and Malik could see his throat twitch as he gave a hard swallow. He wasn't truly cornered; Bakura could weasel his way out of nearly any hold, so Malik saw it as an invitation. “Are you sure?”

 

Malik's forearm pressed into the fridge above Bakura's head, voice dropping to a purr. Though Bakura's posture was tense, his pupils were dilated, the want there as clear as day. Malik thought they'd been dancing around this for far too long.

 

There was a knock at the door just then, and the moment crumbled as quickly as it had arisen. Malik frowned, inclining his head.

 

“... Damn I didn't think they'd be this early.”

 

Bakura took the opportunity to slip under his arm, dancing away with a facetious grin on his face. “Oh no. What a shame.”

 

Malik snorted. “You don't have to hide from them, you know.”

 

A scowl wrinkled Bakura's face. “I'm not hiding! I just don't want to talk to anyone.”

 

“Whatever you say,” Malik shrugged as he went to answer the door. Bakura had already vanished.

 

“Hey,” Malik greeted his siblings with a smile that went unreturned. For how grave Isis and Rishid looked, one would have thought they'd shown up to investigate a murder.

 

“Hello, Malik,” Isis said, her voice growing hushed. “Is... the spirit here?”

 

Malik resisted the urge to roll his eyes, stepping aside to allow them in. “'The ‘spirit' has a name and yes, he is. I don't think you'll be seeing him though.”

 

They moved to the living room. Isis took a seat on the couch and said nothing for a long while. She was rigid with tension, as though merely being in the same vicinity as Bakura was physically painful. She pinched the bridge of her nose. “... It was reckless of you to bring him back, Malik. What were you thinking?”

 

The last of Malik's smile dropped off his face. His voice was measured and even. “I was thinking he's a _person_ and he deserves a second chance, sister.”

 

“You know what he's done,” Isis replied, gaze like steel.

 

“And you know what I've done, yet you didn't turn your back on me. Do you think I should have been sent to the darkness along with my other self?”

 

“That's different!”

 

“How?” Malik challenged, gritting his teeth. It was pointless for him to sit down because he got to his feet again just as quickly, her words chafing at his skin. “Isis, he had no one! No one would help him! Just think for a moment why he ended up the way he did! If you say he deserved it, then you must also think I deserved nothing but death as well.”

 

Isis looked appalled at the accusation, but Malik continued on.

 

“I really don't want to make you leave since you just got here, but don't push me.”

 

“Malik, I think it's a very compassionate thing you did.” Rishid finally spoke up, looking as though he wanted to be understanding of the situation. “But surely it's understandable that we'd be concerned, given Bakura's history.”

 

Malik's shoulders dropped as a small huff left him. “Sure, but that's what I'm trying to tell you. He isn't dangerous. He just... things were really messed up for him.”

 

“Understatement of the millennia.”

 

The voice far too close, making Isis and Rishid's attention snap to the right. No one had heard Bakura enter the room. He was grinning sordidly at the shock worn plainly on both of their expressions.

 

“It's good to know people still act like a bomb has gone off whenever I show up, even without the Ring's power.”

 

Malik stifled a sigh. Of course he should have expected as much from his housemate.

 

“You...!” Isis hissed. Perhaps she had thought Bakura would have retained Ryou's appearance. Seeing the Thief King standing before her eyes thousands of years later must have been disorienting for the reincarnated priestess. It didn't take long for her to regain her composure, however, and she narrowed her eyes at him. “Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

 

Bakura shrugged, cutting through the three of them. “Not really.”

 

Isis leered at him. “Do you even realize how much pain you've caused?”

 

“I wasn’t the one who struck for blood first, so don't preach at me.”

 

She turned her attention to her brother again. “He doesn't seem like he's changed, Malik.”

 

Bakura snorted, slinking around the kitchen island, obviously in search of something more interesting to him than the interrogation happening in the living room. “'He' is right here, but you can believe whatever you want.”

 

“Isis, Rishid, I'd like to formally introduce you to Bakura, resident asshole.” Malik said, giving a non-committal wave at Bakura, who was fishing some snack food from the cupboards. “Sister, I assure you, the most evil he does this days comes in the form of eating all of my food and never saying 'thank you'.”

 

Bakura walked around the kitchen island, shoving a handful of chips into his mouth. He tossed them all one last nonplussed look before disappearing down the hall. Isis and Rishid's eyes followed him as he went, no one speaking again until there was the audible _thump_ of the bedroom door closing.

 

“I still don't trust him,” Isis said, hackles lowering by a touch without the offending man in the room.

 

“You don't have to,” Malik sighed again – for them to all get along right away would have been nothing short of a miracle, “but I hope that you can give him a chance.”

...

 

It was a strange atmosphere that settled over the apartment in the days that followed. The incident in the kitchen wasn't brought up again, dampened by the subsequent interruption of Malik's family. Even so, it hung between them like a scent they could pretend to ignore, their attention always unwittingly being drawn back to it.

 

Malik had sunk against the side of the couch, chin propped up in his palm. It seemed frequent that he and Bakura would sit around and watch TV now; Bakura had little energy for anything else but at least it was better than him isolating himself in his room.

 

It wasn't a show they had their attention on at this time. Instead, it was a game that Bakura was playing. Malik had bought the console for him partly because it was amusing to think about an ancient spirit becoming so engrossed in video games. Sometimes he forgot about how others were intimidated by him, considering what a complete nerd he was.

 

But he wasn't so amused this time. Instead, his skin felt like it was being rubbed with sandpaper whenever Bakura clicked his tongue when he got lost in a dungeon, or cursed when he tried and failed to defeat a boss. Malik’s eyes were fixed on the screen with an air of boredom when usually he'd be taunting Bakura for not being able to progress by now.

 

However, whenever there was a lull in gameplay, Malik found his sights drifting over to his housemate – only to find Bakura was staring back at him. They'd look away just as quickly, and then it would happen again minutes later.

 

“Why do you keep staring at me?” Malik finally broke the silence between them. He wasn't looking away this time.

 

Bakura shifted in his seat as though Malik had prodded him, a confused scowl on his face.

 

“You’re the one that keeps staring at me.”

 

“No I don’t.”

 

Bakura shook his head. “Whatever. I’m sure I’m not seeing things.”

 

“Right…” Malik's nose gave a stubborn wrinkle. They fell into silence again. Charged, aggravating, static silence.

 

He'd made a point to give Bakura his space because he so obviously needed it, and his housemate only seemed to recoil the closer he tried to get. Then Bakura had kissed him and Malik didn't know what to think. Perhaps he'd been starting to come to terms with the idea of the man not being interested, and then everything was tossed up into the air again.

 

Malik rubbed at the back of his neck uncomfortably, unable to remain silent this time. His mouth opened and closed once before he finally spoke. “Am I… doing something wrong?”

 

Bakura fixed him with a questioning look. “What are you talking about?”

 

Malik lowered his eyelids, unimpressed. “You kissed me and now you’re acting like it never happened.”

 

Bakura's posture changed, shoulders rising in a defensive gesture Malik had become all too familiar with. He suddenly looked like he wanted to be anywhere but in that room, his eyes drifting away from Malik.

 

“That was just… It didn’t mean anything.”

 

A pause, and then Malik's hand stilled on the back of his neck. His words were tinged with a bitter smile. “Didn’t mean anything, huh? That’s not what it felt like.”

 

Bakura glowered at him, a grimace pulling at the edges of his features. “What do you want from me, Malik?”

 

Malik huffed, anger familiar and all too easily slipping into his veins. “I want you to stop being so obtuse. Do you not remember any of it?”

 

“Any of what? Gods, you’re insufferable.” Bakura huffed. “Just tell me what you want.”

 

Malik's hand tightened into a fist. There was no way Bakura was this stupid. There was no way he didn't remember the weeks leading up to the final showdown with the Pharaoh. Malik refused to believe it.

 

“Nevermind.” He shoved himself up and made for the front door, leaving a very confused Bakura in his wake. “I’m going for a ride. Be back later.”

 

“Okay…?”

…

 

Days crawled by and the tensions refused to settle, kicked up like dust every time one of them moved. Malik wasn't sure what had consumed him, but he didn't feel right.

 

It wasn't like he was owed anything - except for gratitude, and Bakura had a hard enough time expressing that.

 

Perhaps it was simply… lack of interest. After all, fooling around didn't necessarily mean anything. Given the time it had taken place, it could have merely been a way for Bakura to work out his stress, and Malik as well. In retrospect, they hadn't gone very far, their activities limited to kissing and touching. Sometimes it was under the clothes, most times not. Bakura always held him at a distance, and he was fine with that when all of this was a fling to him. And by the time he realized it was so much more, it was already too late.

 

Malik felt the ghost of Ryou's hands pawing under his shirt, finding the ridges of his scars and then stilling.

 

A weight sank in Malik’s stomach, a darker voice whispering that perhaps Bakura had seen how marred he was. Maybe he didn't _like_ such disfigurement under his fingertips.

 

Malik swallowed, so absorbed in his thoughts he didn't notice the subject of them sneak up beside him.

 

“Malik,” Bakura sounded oddly cautious, definitely as uncomfortable as Malik felt. “I’m out of paint.”

 

Malik's aching irritation sank back into his skin. He didn't even look at Bakura, arm slapping against the counter. “Sucks for you.”

 

Bakura's eyes shifted uneasily. “Well, could you pick some up the next time you go out?”

 

Malik jerked his head over, squinting at him. Why the hell was Bakura bothering him over this inane shit? Was he trying to be funny? “You can do it yourself. I’m not your servant.”

 

Bakura scowled, looking thoroughly put out by Malik's anger. “You never had a problem with it before so I just thought…”

 

Malik laughed, the sound hollow. “Yeah, I’m sure we both assumed a lot of things.”

 

“Malik, what the fuck?” Bakura's own temper was beginning to simmer. “You’ve been acting like a dick for days now.”

 

There it was again, that infuriating cluelessness. Stupid. He was so stupid. “I don’t think you have any right to talk.”

 

Bakura tossed his arms up, exasperated.“What the hell has gotten into you?”

 

_Tell me what I'm doing wrong. Tell me why you kissed me if it meant nothing to you. Tell me why I can't get you out of my mind._

 

Malik pinched the bridge of his nose. “Gods, you’re an idiot.”

 

“Fuck you!” Bakura snarled back, anger reaching its breaking point. “It isn’t my problem you can’t say what you want!”

 

Malik's heart pounded in his chest, either from their escalating argument or… something else. He knew he was about to do something he'd probably regret.

 

“You really wanna know what I want?”

 

Picking up where they'd left off a couple weeks ago, Bakura was shoved against the nearest wall, Malik's hands clamped down on his shoulders as their lips were firmly sealed. Bakura was unresponsive out of shock, and Malik held the awkward kiss until his muscles began to relax.

 

“Does that ring a bell?” He said as he pulled back, some of the anger drained from him even as his heart continued to pound. “Do you not remember what we had, Bakura?”

 

“What we had…?” Bakura struggled to reorient himself, staring at Malik's chest instead of his face but seeing nothing. A grimace pulled at his features. His voice was much quieter. “We didn't… have anything. That was temporary.”

 

All at once, Malik's temper surged back. He had to close his eyes and take a deep breath so he didn't lose himself.

 

Bakura's back thumped hard against the wall as Malik shoved him away.

 

“Malik, what-?!”

 

“Buy your own damn supplies,” Malik snapped back before storming off. “And for future reference, don't kiss me if it's all ‘temporary’ to you.”

 

He didn't want to deal with any of it.

…

 

“Malik…?”

 

Malik was surprised to hear anything out of Bakura a few days later. The other man had taken to avoiding him, almost as if he were afraid. Malik would never use the words fearful or timid to describe Bakura, but the way he was acting was reminiscent of it. He was returning from the bathroom when Bakura crossed paths with him.

 

“What is it?” Malik paused and glanced over to his housemate, voice flat and blunt.

 

Bakura rubbed at the back of his neck, evidently not happy with another tense silence congealing between them. A scowl marred his face like another scar. “I don’t understand what I did wrong.”

 

“Yeah, you and me both,” Malik snorted, taking a step in the direction of the living room where his family was waiting. “I have to get back to my siblings now so continue hiding if you feel like it.”

 

“I’m not hiding,” Bakura snapped, persistent. “Why are you so difficult? Just tell me what’s chafing your goddamn dick.”

 

Malik stopped again, not looking at him. At this point, he was too tired to feel anything aside from a dulled anger. He laughed bitterly. “There’s nothing to say. You don’t want me and that’s that.”

 

What twisted the knife even more was the utter disbelief in Bakura's voice. “What? When did I ever say that?”

 

Malik's brows shot up his forehead as he turned to face him completely. Bakura's eyes widened as the implications of his words sank in and he back pedaled immediately.

 

“I mean… That didn’t come out right.”

 

Malik grimaced, fists clenching at his sides. He shook his head, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

 

“Bakura, you can’t keep doing this. Showing me one side of you and then backing out afterwards.” He huffed. “I have no idea what to think.”

 

He tried being patient. He tried being understanding. He knew how difficult Bakura could be but a line had to be drawn somewhere. He couldn't keep reaching out his hand only for it to be slapped away. He didn't want to play this game with Bakura anymore. It only left him with a confused ache in his chest, made worse by the fact he couldn't properly iterate what he wanted with Bakura.

 

Bakura fidgeted with the front of his sweater, looking as lost and angry as Malik did.

 

“But I can’t just…”

 

Malik made to leave again, voice rising.

 

“Well figure your own shit out! I can’t hold your hand every step of the way.”

 

He returned to the living room before Bakura had a chance to argue. Isis and Rishid were staring at him with concern, once again having dropped by for a visit.

 

“We heard arguing. Is everything alright?” Isis said.

 

“Fine. Bakura’s just an idiot. Nothing new,” Malik grumbled. Isis nodded slowly.

 

“That seems like very suitable behavior for him, yes.”

 

Malik huffed a sigh. For once, he wasn't in a mood to defend him.

 

…

 

Bakura had risked a journey from his room to the bathroom, about to make the journey back when he noticed a pair of feet directly in his line of sight. He glanced up to find Rishid standing there. The obvious assumption would be that Rishid had to use the bathroom, and yet he made no move to step around Bakura, nor did he move out of Bakura's path.

 

Bakura's glanced to one side, then the other, but Rishid's eyes always remained fixed on him, steely and unyielding. After a pause, Bakura finally broke the silence, raising a questioning brow.

 

“You don’t say much, huh?”

 

“I’ve been meaning to speak with you.”

 

“Why?” Bakura scowled, having no desire to converse with either one of Malik's siblings. He would have prefered they stay away from him, and he'd stay away from them in return.

 

“Admittedly, I am concerned for my brother’s health with you around.”

 

Bakura rolled his eyes, muttering to himself. “I’m concerned for my own health when I’m around your brother…”

 

There was a change in Rishid's disposition, one that was hardly visible. His expression remained set in stone, and his voice didn't seem to raise, but something had hardened there. Something had snapped, compelling Bakura to give him his full attention, if only for the moment. Rishid's anger was not like Malik's. Rishid's anger was cold and stern, subtle yet left no room for nonsense.

 

“Be silent and just listen to me because I don’t want to have to repeat myself.” He didn't hiss or yell but the way he delivered each word, swift and cutting, had the same effect. “I’m not going to sugarcoat it. If you hurt my brother, I am going to make you wish he had never brought you back.”

 

Bakura took a step back, not so much offended as he was incredulous. And then he smirked again. “You’re a little too late on that one, Baldy.”

 

Rishid was unamused. “You are arrogant and selfish and you don’t seem to realize how much you consumed him when you were gone.”

 

“It’s not like I asked him to worry about me.” Bakura shifted where he stood, uncomfortable. More to himself, he added on lowly. “I thought he would hate me.”

 

“Your own misconceptions are not my problem. I don’t understand my brother’s devotion towards you either, but don't act like you're completely free of responsibility.”

 

“Devotion?” Bakura's head snapped up, and then he scoffed. “You make it sound like he worships me.”

 

“Then you are more ignorant than I thought.” Rishid closed his eyes, and Bakura suspected he was trying to get his temper under control, but Rishid was calm even in his anger. “I’d long since given up on trying to convince him to move on. When Malik is set on something, there is little I can do to change his mind. What did you think kept him so hellbent on bringing you back?”

 

Bakura didn't have an answer – or rather, Bakura didn't have an answer he wanted to admit out loud to himself. The silence pressed down on him, making him acutely aware of every breath he took. "I thought he just… I don’t know.”

 

Perhaps it was a sort of pity that entered Rishid's eyes for a moment, but Bakura could have just as easily been seeing things.

 

“Malik is in love with you. If you are smart, you won’t take him for granted. Do you share this love for him, Bakura?”

 

Bakura felt his breathing stop just then. The words were delivered so bluntly, so easily dragging out everything he and Malik had been dancing around for the longest while. Now it was out in the open, laying before Bakura, demanding his attention. If Rishid took notice of how disoriented Bakura looked just then, he gave no indication of it.

 

It took a few moments for Bakura to find his voice again. “That’s not something you can just ask me.”

 

“Regardless, think about what I’ve said. And if you find you don’t feel the same way towards him, I advise you tear off the bandage quickly.” Rishid finally moved past him, but not before pausing for a final word. “Maybe you have changed, and maybe you haven’t, but either way, I do not want to have to watch my brother linger on someone like you any longer.”

 

And that was the end of that. Bakura was soon left standing in the hallway alone, like whole conversation had never taken place.

 

“… Nice to see you too.”

…

Bakura's pacing didn't pause for days. It seemed every waking moment consisted of him restlessly wandering the house, like he couldn't sit still no matter what he did. It was honestly the most active Malik had ever seen Bakura get since returning. He couldn't help but be reminded of the way a cat would tear up furniture and race down the halls when it was bored.

 

Malik's eyes followed him for a long time until he worked up the mental energy to deal with this new development.

 

“… What’s the matter with you?”

 

Bakura stopped, tensing up like Malik's voice had sent an electric jolt through his body - yet another strange habit he'd recently adopted. Malik didn't know why he bothered. It was aggravating how difficult he could be, especially when he was skittish like this.

 

Bakura whirled to answer him, but he couldn't seem to meet Malik's eyes as he growled. “I’m going to lose my mind if I stay in here any longer.”

 

“Nothing is stopping you from leaving the apartment…” Malik pointed out. It was ridiculous how Bakura acted like he kept him prisoner sometimes.

 

Even so, he could understand where Bakura was coming from. The apartment felt far too stuffy, the air feeling more charged than usual. Malik scratched at the back of his head. “You wanna go for a ride? I need some air as well.”

 

He didn't know why he offered. Some space apart would probably be better for them and Bakura hated the bike anyway. Bakura looked conflicted, like he wanted to say no but something was stopping him.

 

“Yeah. Sure. Whatever. Let’s go.”

 

Malik blinked at him. He blinked again.

 

“Didn't think you'd actually agree…”

 

Bakura grunted and that was the end of the conversation until they got to the garage.

As Malik mounted the bike, Bakura stared at his back - hard. He wanted to run. He wanted to get far away from Malik, but he wasn't one to back out of something he'd agreed to either. He climbed on behind Malik after putting on a helmet.

 

When the bike actually started up, Bakura seemed to remember where he was. Instinctively, he found himself practically suctioned to Malik's back. A noise could be heard over the roar of the engine - something sounding very much like an amused snort.

 

“Ease up. You’re going to cause us to crash if you hold on that close. Haven't I told you that before?” Malik questioned, turning his head to look over his shoulder.

 

“Don't sound so smug,” Bakura growled, thankful the helmet hid the flush on his cheeks. He glared at the back of Malik's neck, hoping the bastard felt it.

 

The ride was much smoother than Bakura expected. Malik had seemed to love terrorizing him with the promise of his host’s brains being spilled over the pavement in the past, but today he'd left the thrill seeking part of him behind. Malik must have been lost in his own thoughts because he didn't taunt Bakura over the wind, or speed up to see how tight his grip became. They cruised at an easy speed and Bakura didn't mind it at all, but he still preferred a horse.

 

There wasn't a destination in mind, and Bakura assumed Malik would just take them for a spin around Domino before coming back, but soon the city was growing further and further away. The roads began to thin, and Malik pulled over to a resting point with a certain deliberation.

 

Bakura remained quiet, if only out of curiosity, pulling off his helmet and leaving it behind as he followed after him.

 

Malik lead them up a trail, the sounds of the forest enveloping them. It became quieter the further they got from the highway, and Bakura appreciated it. It was a very different sort of ambience than the city background noise, and the air was much cleaner. He felt like he had room to breathe up here.

 

The trees gave way to a peak overlooking the ocean, Domino City a mere spot in the distance. Malik seemed satisfied, and Bakura realized he must have come here before. If it had been any other time, perhaps he would have teased Malik for bringing him to his favourite date spot, but Rishid's visit was still fresh in his mind. The words dried up in his throat and his mouth stayed firmly shut.

 

“I like coming out here.” Malik finally broke the silence between them, eyes searching the horizon. “Anywhere with a good view is a good spot for me.”

 

Bakura slowly moved up beside him, but Malik wasn't looking at him. He seemed to be choosing his words carefully, rolling them over in his mouth.

 

“I never... thought I'd feel lonely though. I have Isis and Rishid, but they can't be with me all the time. I don't want to be a burden to them.” A bitter smile crossed his face for a moment. “I'm not exactly good with making friends either. Manipulating people is easy, but on a level deeper than that... I find I'm just annoyed with nearly everyone I meet.”

 

Bakura felt a responding smirk twitch at his mouth. He knew what an angry, conniving brat Malik had been - and still was. In fact, he felt like he was the only person who saw Malik's true self. He didn't know why Malik was telling him this, however.

 

Malik continued, the smile dropping off of his face.

 

“Really reflects on how I grew up I guess. I can't trust anyone. I can't talk to anyone. But... you're the one person that seems to get it and...” He looked oddly bashful at At a glimpse, or perhaps just frustrated with himself. His hand had crept up to the back of his head, scratching at the scalp. He dropped his arm again, huffing. “I don't know. I'm just rambling.”

 

Some part of Bakura registered that wasn't true, perhaps a larger part he never wanted to acknowledge. Malik did nothing without reason. There was purpose, there was intent behind Malik's words. He wanted Bakura to hear this.

 

It was odd how unaware Bakura had been of the sunlight beating down on them both, warming his skin in ways it never could when he occupied stolen flesh. He watched the light sink into Malik, bringing out the warmest tones in his skin, highlighting the sharp cut of his profile and  brightening the icy lavender of his gaze. Life wreathed him more beautifully than any crown of gold ever could. Life that Malik was willing to share unconditionally. Life that had pulled them both from the darkness.

 

_Malik is in love with you._

 

Perhaps he'd always been aware of it, but only now did the truth of those words resonate with him.

 

And that didn't scare Bakura nearly as much as the responding fire in his chest did.

 

It was a weighted, dizzying pain in his heart. With all Malik offered him, why did he feeling like he'd only lose even more? Like sand and ash would take it all back, rip it away like it had done once before.

 

“This can't work between us,” he heard himself saying, the words sounding distant as though coming from another mouth. The horizon began to tilt, a numbness crawling through his limbs, control slipping away.

 

“Why can't it?” Malik finally turned to pin him with a hard look. He was the only thing Bakura could focus on in his surroundings, the only thing he could hold on to. Malik shook his head a moment later, glancing away. “I guess I just got the wrong idea, if you're truly so unattracted to me.”

 

Something inside Bakura sunk, the wrongness of the moment a bitter taste on his tongue. He didn't know how to make it right.

 

“That's not it.”

 

“Then what is?” Malik narrowed his eyes at him and Bakura knew he was getting impatient. Hell, Bakura was already beyond impatient with himself. “What are you afraid of?”

 

“Do we have to talk about this now?” Could Malik not see how disoriented he was? Bakura shoved his palms against his forehead, trying to right himself.

 

“You're not really making a good case for yourself here...” Malik said, his foot sliding along the ground in the vague direction of the trail. Perhaps he'd leave Bakura here, alone with his thoughts.

 

That notion alone was enough to make the panic that had been building inside him finally reach the breaking point. Bakura felt something snap, a cold hand reaching into his chest and squeezing the confession out of his lungs.

 

“I don't want to lose you!” His cry echoed around the peak. Bakura shook his head, the words hurting to say, to make real, but he couldn't stop. “Malik, you don't understand. I can't have anything.”

 

He shook his head, not wanting to see the unimpressed expression on Malik's face. He knew he was spouting nonsense. Even he couldn't make sense of what was happening to him.

 

“The last time I remember feeling whole, a village burned. And it's like...” He clenched his eyes shut, but that wouldn't stop the burn behind them. He hated himself for being so weak. “It's like ever since you rescued me, some of the empty space has been filled, but... I can't- Malik, I can't do this again-”

 

He sucked in gasps of air, but it was as though it was merely passing through him like he were nothing but bones, a hollow whistle through his ribs. The world spun further away from his grasp, and the heat from the sun could not reach him any longer.

 

“Why can't I breathe?” It wasn't even a whisper, his lips barely mouthing the words.

 

He didn't realize he was falling until a pair of arms were catching him, easing him down until he was cradled against a warm body. The gasping in his ears didn't register as coming from his own lungs, panic numbing him to everything except for the palm cupping his face, the lips pressed to his forehead, the voice urging him to breathe.

 

Time was impossible to keep track of, an undetermined amount passing before the air began to find purchase in his chest again. Bakura had his eyes squeezed shut, aware of the wetness cutting paths down his cheeks and cursing himself for crying. He'd done far too much of that lately.

His eyes slowly opened, finding Malik's face. The concern, the utter and complete understanding he saw there stole his breath away, but for an entirely different reason. He never expected such care from anyone; it was far beyond the realm of his comprehension.

 

“Bakura, this isn't some divine punishment.” Malik's voice was soft, even affectionate, and Bakura sobbed, wanting to believe him. Malik held him closer, brushing strands of hair out of his eyes. “I won't let anything – fate, Gods, anything else – put you through that again. I'm not going anywhere.”

 

“I thought nothing could break me even more... and then you just had to-” Bakura could barely force the words from his chest. He couldn't handle pain like this again. His voice trembled, edging on a hysterical laugh - at least laughter was familiar. “I hate you.”

 

Malik shook his head, frown deepening when he heard the terrible, wounded noise.

 

“You can't keep pretending you're invincible.” He stroked his cheek, insistent. “Don't shut me out on this, Bakura. Please.”

 

Bakura's sorry excuse for a chuckle died off, the corners of his mouth trembling, lips pulled back over grit teeth.

 

He knew he was a fool. He should have let Malik walk off thinking he didn't like him. Perhaps that could have spared him but it was too late now.

 

He ducked his head against Malik's chest, sobs flowing from him without hindrance.

 

“Stay.”

 

Malik cupped his head, cheek leaned against his temple.

 

“I'm not going anywhere.”

 

…

 

It was with a heavy silence that Bakura allowed himself to be taken back to the apartment. Now that whatever anguish had seized him was gone, he felt hollowed out, drained, and humiliated above all.

 

But strangely, a part of him felt better, lighter than he'd been when they'd left that afternoon. Lighter than he'd been for weeks, like he'd shed some of the weight off his heart.

 

It was shameful when he felt a flare of panic seeing his room, knowing what isolation was in store for him. Going back to the silent, awful, grating tension after what had just happened… Bakura didn't think he could manage it.

 

Malik seemed to understand and pulled him along until they were both in his own room instead. He even had the king sized bed. The jackass, Bakura thought.

 

He felt oddly fragile as they laid down, which did not sit well with him at all. Malik only held him close, and he had no energy to resist. Hell, he didn't even want to resist by now. It felt good. It had always felt good. Denying himself of it felt pointless when he'd laid himself bare before Malik not one hour ago.

 

A shiver ran along his skin as Malik's fingers combed through the strands of hair at the base of his neck. The touch was soothing and gentle, like Malik himself realized how easily the pieces of Bakura could splinter.

 

“... Your brother was right,” Bakura mumbled, more to himself than anything.

 

Malik blinked. “Huh? When did you talk to Rishid?”

 

“... The other day.” Bakura snorted. “I suppose it was less talking, more threatening.”

 

Malik's mouth pressed into a thin line. “I'll speak with him about that. What did he say?”

 

 _Ah, dammit._ Bakura's eyes immediately averted.

 

“He just wasn't happy about us being...” He paused, searching for a word that was safe to use, “... friends.”

 

Malik smiled, and the light surrounding him made Bakura's breathing slow.

 

“It's a good thing I don't want to be your friend then.”

 

Bakura's eyes widened. For once, words wouldn't seem to form, not even a smart remark that usually waited on the edge of his tongue.

 

“You wanna take things slow?” Malik asked, voice hardly above a whisper.

 

Bakura grimaced. Instinct wanted him to dive into it, kiss Malik with all the heat and fire between them and press on without a care. But it reminded him of past times where he inhabited a body that wasn't his own, caught in some unidentifiable tangle of emotions with his partner, and knowing it would all come to an end very soon. He couldn't - he couldn't go back to that.

 

“I don't want this to be temporary.”

 

Malik frowned, gently turning Bakura's face back towards him when he looked away.

 

“I'll tell you as many times as you need to hear it. You don't have to be strong anymore.” His thumb trailed the length of the scar running down Bakura's eye. “I've got you.”

 

If Bakura felt breathless before, it was nothing compared to now. The sincerity in Malik's voice was overwhelming, stripping him bare.

 

Bakura's eyes slid shut, lips parting as his breath came slow. He hoped Malik would take the hint.

 

A shiver traveled along his skin as soft lips pressed to his own. Malik's mouth found the shape of Bakura's, the kiss slow and gradual, yet fierce and yearning. It was unlike anything either of them had experienced before, existing not as a meaningless distraction, but something so much more.

 

There was no need to rush through it, nor did the urge to recoil ever rise up in Bakura's chest. Their lips kneaded together at their leisure, tongues dipping into each other's mouths. Even when they parted, their foreheads remained pressed together as they breathed into the small gap between them.

 

Bakura's eyes cracked open, voice barely making it out of his throat..

 

“Don't leave.”

 

Malik didn't need to answer for Bakura to know he'd keep his word. It was as plain as the circumstances that had lead them to this moment, here, now. Malik's palm cupped his cheek, fitting there so well, and Bakura realized there was no place in this world he'd rather be.

 

He had thought nothing remained for him but dust and ash, the air never quite sitting right around his reanimated body. By all rights, he shouldn't have existed amongst the living, but there wasn't a spot for him amidst the dead either. The Gods had denied him that for too long, the only thing to house his soul being the gold he'd slept in for millennia.

 

His home had been destroyed long ago, but he knew it still existed far in the desert for strangers to occupy. People who had no idea what tragedy had turned it into the supernatural epicenter it was today. It could hardly be called something he wanted to return to - there was _nothing_ to return to.

 

Bakura allowed his eyes to close, the warmth of the moment washing over him. Warmth he never thought he'd feel again, with all the blood and ash that made up his world.

 

But Malik - Malik felt like home.

 

…

 

Columns of sunlight lazily traveled down the wallpaper, dipping from pale yellow into salmon pink. Bakura curled against Malik's chest, the unspoken agreement to nap having settled over them, but Bakura was wide awake.

 

He didn't mind it, keeping up the ruse for what must have been a few hours. He pretended to doze, inhaling Malik's scent with each breath. He couldn't be held responsible for his actions if he was asleep, after all.

 

But Malik was freely giving him affection - he didn't know why he felt compelled to steal it.

 

He knew Malik was awake. His partner's touch would leisurely travel up and down his side, occasionally breaking to stroke through his hair. Bakura had to bite down the urge to squirm, a tremble of sensation crawling along his skin when Malik's fingers brushed the fine hairs at the base of his neck. He couldn't stop himself from sighing and breathing a little deeper whenever it happened. The comfort was unlike any pleasure he'd ever known, the closest thing being vaguely stirred memories of his relatives holding him close.

 

Malik kept his promise not to leave, even when Bakura thought he would grow bored.

 

But they couldn't lay in that position forever, as much as he wanted them to. Malik shifted away and the haze of comfort and warmth was shattered, panic cutting through the fog.

 

Bakura's hands instinctively grasped Malik's shirt, only loosening when humiliation slapped him in the face again, reminding him of how pathetic he was.

 

Malik blinked down at him, and then he smiled. Bakura had to glance away, face flushing.

 

“Kind of suspected you were awake,” Malik chuckled, moving off the bed. “Don't worry, I was just going to change out of my riding stuff…”

 

Bakura glanced back over at him, realizing he was still wearing his gloves and jacket. Malik took them off and tossed both away before reaching for the hem of his shirt, winking.

 

“Feel free to watch.”

 

Bakura was glad his complexion was not as pale as Ryou's because his face heated up even more. He mustered up a weak glare.

 

“You're an ass.”

 

“And apparently you're a cuddler,” Malik snorted. Bakura threw a pillow at him but he dodged it.

 

“Do you wanna get out of those clothes as well?” Malik said as he pulled his shirt off and exposed his chest - a sight Bakura was quick to appreciate. He nodded to Bakura's jeans and sweater, snickering. “I swear I mean that in the least sexual way you can imagine.”

 

Bakura's mouth twisted weirdly as he tried to hold back a smirk of his own. He appreciated the humour in the wake of the horrible episode he'd had. Normalcy for either of them seemed impossibly out of their reach, but times like these made it look like it a mere barefoot trek across the desert could tide them to it - easier than Gods and Shadow Games and destiny. “Yeah, I'm sure you do.”

 

Malik raised a brow. “Don't believe me?”

 

Some of the humour left Bakura's expression, replaced by something darker and just as mischievous. His eyes became lidded, grin lazy to disguise the heart rioting between his ribs. “No, I'm just kind of disappointed.”

 

A flicker of surprise crossed Malik's face but it was gone just as quickly. Bakura knew they were both sick of it at this point, tension that seemed to lead nowhere, being consumed in other things and not each other.

 

Malik rolled a loose muscle shirt over his head before undoing his belt and dropping his pants. He stepped into a pair of more comfortable night pants, not at all minding Bakura's eyes on him.

 

“Well if I were trying to hit on you, I think you'd know it…” His voice edged towards a purr as he stepped over to the bed.

 

Bakura smirked, eyes lowering to the sheets beneath him for a moment. He felt Malik's weight sink into the bed and glanced up to see his partner staring at him, a sudden concern masking his playful demeanor.

 

“Bakura…?”

 

“Hm?”

 

“Are you feeling better?”

 

The genuine worry in Malik's voice made Bakura pause. The Malik he'd come to know in the past still made it hard to believe the Malik in the present. He never would have expected such consideration from him, and in a way he was jealous of how far he'd come.

 

Bakura gave a wry smile. “I think you're getting soft on me.”

 

“You didn't answer my question.” Malik sighed. His hand slid to Bakura's cheek. “I meant it when I said I cared about you.”

 

Bakura's breathing grew short. He couldn't quite meet Malik's eye, but he believed him.

 

How did he feel? Restless, mostly. Confused by all of this, but he didn’t need to understand what was going on in his own head to know he wanted a distraction.

 

“I feel better enough to do this.”

 

Bakura's hand met Malik's chest, pushing him down onto his back.

 

“Bakur-?” Was all Malik was able to get out before Bakura cut him off with another kiss, directing his attention away from the hand sneaking lower.

 

How many times had they done this? Let their hands explore each other's bodies without delving too deep? Doing just enough to ease their tension and nothing more? Well, Bakura was about to take it a step further.

 

Malik gave a delicious gasp into their kiss as Bakura's hand slid beneath his waistband, palming warm skin. He wondered how impatient Malik was - and suddenly his behavior from the past several weeks made so much more sense. Bakura couldn't help but huff a snort through his nose.

 

It wasn't a problem; he was equally as impatient.

 

The kiss broke, Bakura shifting lower on Malik's body and tugged at the pants, feeling his partner's eyes on him.

 

“What are you doing?”

 

Exasperated, Bakura glanced back up.

 

“Don't tell me you've never had a blowjob before.” It wasn't like he'd ever _given_ one, but Malik didn't need to know that.

 

“I mean-” Malik ran a hand through his hair, sheepish. Evidently, working through communication was a difficult task for them. “Just- You're really feeling alright now?”

 

Bakura flashed him a grin, one of his more genuine ones.

 

“Stop doting on me. It's weird.”

 

Whatever argument Malik was about to start dissolved into a moan as Bakura's palm slid over his groin again. The sound spurred Bakura on as he worked off Malik's pants, and he was glad he was doing something right because he truly had no clue how to go about this.

 

Improvisations were a specialty of his - or he'd like to think so anyway - and he really was grateful for everything Malik had done for him, even if that wasn't a fact he'd outwardly acknowledge. He wanted to give _something_ back and, without much to his name, this was his first choice.

 

But he'd be lying if he said he hadn't thought about it before.

 

“Bakura…” Malik said again - sighed it in a way that didn't need a response. A shudder running through his nerves, Bakura drew his tongue up the length of Malik's cock, hand loosely gripping the base. As Bakura took his time in feeling Malik out, Malik had let his head drop back against the pillow, breath coming faster and shallower. With several long licks, Malik was swearing under his breath. When Bakura’s lips slipped over the head, Malik’s hand had travelled down to thread his fingers in his hair.

 

Bakura’s eyes grew lidded, hazy as it sank into him that he _liked_ the sensation, head unconsciously leaning towards his partner’s palm. If anything, he wished Malik would hold on tighter.

 

He switched to breathing through his nose, eyes sliding shut as his tongue worked over the slit, circling the tip. Everything else seemed to fall away, a soft groan slipping up his throat without thought. His hand began to work up and down Malik’s shaft, the other man’s panting an encouraging lull in the back of his mind.

 

“Looks like you did get the Rod after all.”

 

… And then Malik had to go and say that dumb shit. Bakura pulled off of him to shoot him an incredulous glare. That joke was bad even by _his_ standards. He’d never expected hearing it from Malik’s mouth.

 

“I will break your dick off, I swear.” His grip on said dick tightened to emphasize his point.

 

Why was he smirking? Why was it so hard to hold back something that edged suspiciously close to a giggle? Malik was laughing too, the sound breathless and high, which made it all the more satisfying when he choked on a gasp as Bakura grabbed his balls and gave them a squeeze.

 

Before Malik could protest, Bakura swallowed his cock again, hand flying to his thigh to brace himself. He let Malik slide past his lips, never having been one for patience, each dip of his head letting more of his length disappear into his mouth.

 

“Fuck…!”

 

The hiss Malik let out shot directly to Bakura’s groin - and his ego. Malik was warm and slick in his mouth, the friction reduced as saliva let his lips glide up and down faster. For the second time, his eyes slid shut, the heat that had been building up before Malik’s stupid interruption making him wish he’d taken off his sweater. He didn’t expect to like the thickness pushing against his tongue so much, nor the hand tugging at his hair each time he took Malik down, his nerves tingling with a warm delight he couldn’t quite explain.

 

He couldn't resist a glance up at Malik - the most rewarding part was watching him squirm with pleasure. Bakura’s pants felt tight, his heart rioting in his chest just hearing Malik losing it.

 

When Malik’s tip hit the back of his throat, he choked, easing up enough to give himself room. Perhaps that wasn’t something he could handle _quite_ yet, but Malik didn’t seem to notice the pause. The grip in his hair tightened, causing a thick groan to pour from him. The vibrations against Malik’s cock were definitely appreciated.

 

“Bakura…” Malik breathed, and Bakura savoured the sound. His eyes grew lidded, dreamy as some of the heights Malik was climbing too rubbed off on him. Unconsciously, Bakura’s hips pushed against the sheets, the slight friction making him shiver.

 

“Bakura, I’m-!”

 

A hot splash of cum filled his mouth, making him jerk and struggle to swallow. He couldn’t even get mad because it wasn’t like Malik _hadn’t_ warned him, and hearing Malik call out in ecstasy was worth it. He swallowed Malik’s release even if he didn’t care for the taste, letting his cock slip out of his mouth before resting his cheek on his partner’s thigh.

 

Both of them were panting, cheeks flushed with colour, and all Bakura could think was _well, that happened._

 

He was the first one to catch his breath, pushing himself back up onto his knees. He noticed Malik giving him a dreamy smile, which would have looked goofy as all hell had it been any other time. Now, Bakura’s breath caught at the glow that seemed to surround him.

 

Malik caught him by the arm, jerking him up so they were eye level again and claiming Bakura’s mouth like he owned it. His tongue slid past Bakura’s lips, not at all deterred by the bitter taste, distracting him like the same trick Bakura had pulled earlier. A sharp gasp flew from Bakura as Malik palmed him through the front of his jeans, easily growing impatient with the thick material and snapping open the button and fly.

 

Bakura’s hands found the bed sheets on either side of Malik’s head, clenching at them as he felt the hand slide down his boxers. He couldn’t hold back a moan if he wanted to, hips arching against Malik’s palm. He could feel Malik grinning against his lips, like he was beyond satisfied with what he found.

 

“Your turn,” Malik purred, a note of triumph in his voice. He flipped their positions so Bakura was on his back, quickly setting to tugging off his jeans.

 

It wasn't like Malik hadn't seen everything already, but the hungry way he was looking at him now made Bakura shiver. Malik wasn't shy about openly eyeing his stiff cock and Bakura's breathing hitched as he trailed a few fingers along it. His touch remained feather light as it trailed from base to tip, just enough to tease.

 

Bakura bit back a noise, hands fisting at the sheets beneath him. Malik gave an amused smirk, tugging at the hem of his shirt with his free hand in a silent request. With a huff, Bakura tossed off both his shirt and his sweater.

 

Pleased, Malik swept in for another kiss, but he didn't linger in his lips for long. Bakura's head rolled back as Malik bit his neck, the hand at his cock moving down to cup his balls, thumb rubbing them. He panted, overwhelmed already. This was already so much more than what they had done in the past, and it wasn't just… meaningless stress relief. Malik exercised a care he had never seen in him before - or perhaps he hadn't been looking close enough.

 

Bakura's eyes slid shut, something caught between a sigh and an impatient growl sounding from him. He wanted Malik to stop teasing and get on with it. He heard Malik chuckle.

 

“Here.”

 

His eyes flew open again when Malik drew away, but he wasn't going far. He craned over, rummaging around in his bedside drawer before he pulled out a small bottle.

 

A gasp flew from Bakura as Malik drizzled the lube over his cock. The liquid was cold but Malik's hand was warm as it encircled him, gliding up and down without friction. His mouth dropped open, a sound of pure bliss catching in his throat before he could stop it. Malik's eyes were lidded, heavy with desire as they trained on his face. He stroked Bakura with long, languid pulls of his hand, spreading the lubricant evenly all over his length.

 

“Bakura?” Malik’s voice was low and breathy, and Bakura could hardly pay attention to what he was saying.

 

“Mm…?”

 

“How's that feel?” Malik rubbed his thumb over the slit of Bakura’s cock, smearing away the pre-cum. Bakura rolled his head back against the pillow, a whine pitching in his throat. How could anything feel this good?

 

“ _Mmm_.”

 

Bakura felt Malik smile against his neck moments before he went back to attacking the skin with bites and kisses. Bakura threw his arms around his shoulders, a cry pulled from him as Malik’s hand sped up, panting to the open air as his hips thrust up into Malik’s fist. A tremble of sensation tightened in his lower body and his mouth hung open, a deep moan spilling out.

 

“Are you close?” Malik purred. Bakura’s response was a louder moan, thinking it was clear enough already. He squeezed his eyes shut and buried his face in Malik’s shoulder, the hot white shudder of climax just beginning to wash over him-

 

Malik’s hand stilled, grip remaining firm around the base of his dick. Bakura made an indignant noise as his orgasm slipped away from him, leaving him flustered and uncomfortable.

 

“You fucker-” He snapped, sounding a lot less biting than he wanted to. He made a futile attempt to thrust upwards, but Malik held his hips down. “Come on. I didn't do this to you…!”

 

“I know, but you'll like it like this.” Malik gave a soft laugh. Bakura stubbornly grabbed a pillow and shoved it over his own face. Dammit. _Dammit._ He knew he was flushed red from head to toe. Fuck Malik for making him like this.  

 

“Bakura,” Malik said. He’d drawn both his hands away from Bakura for a moment, fussing with something else. “Look at me.”

 

Bakura threw the pillow away with a huff, but he still didn’t meet Malik’s eye. Malik’s hand returned to his cock, grabbing but not stroking. Just torturously holding him still in his warm, slick grip. Bakura bit back a whimper.

 

“Have you ever done it this way?” Malik asked.

 

Bakura frowned. “I've never done it any way.”

 

“You're joking.” Malik said, tone flat.

 

“No I'm not, Mr. Appointed God of All Things Sexual. Will you finish jerking me off now?” Bakura finally snapped his gaze back over, only for his mouth to go dry when he realized Malik’s free hand was stroking his own cock. Malik was just as hard as he was, and the smirk he wore made Bakura feel like he really was looking in the face of a God. A king at the very least.

 

“Will you relax? I just wanted to try something.”

 

Slowly - painfully - Malik’s hand began to glide up and down Bakura’s cock again. Bakura bit his lip, watching with dilated pupils as Malik straddled him and adjusted his grip so he could take both of them in hand. Bakura's mouth dropped open with a sharp gasp, the intimacy of the gesture stealing his breath away. His hips arched upwards, the slight friction making him dizzy.

 

Malik gave them both another coating of lube, hand squeezing both of them together as he set a steady pace. His eyes were a deepened shade of lavender as he stared down at Bakura, watching him come undone.

 

The warmth and heat of the moment was too much. Bakura found himself climbing again, unable to focus on anything but Malik's hand around them and the feel of their flesh rubbing together.

 

There were dim memories of relieving himself in the distant past, and perhaps a few lingering sensations when he was in Ryou's body, but both experiences were hard to connect to. Clearer memories were the times he and Malik would do whatever it took to relieve their tension, but they had never gone as far as this, and Ryou's nerves rarely seemed to work properly for him. This - Gods, this was something else.

 

He had experienced the pain of the shadows, pain no soul should have been able to endure. This seemed like the complete opposite, nothing but warmth and light surrounding him as he buried his face in Malik's neck. His hips arched upwards, eager for more.

 

The pace sped up, Malik focusing more on Bakura than his own pleasure. His fingertips trailed over Bakura's tip, murmuring words of encouragement into his ear as Bakura's breathing began to hitch.

 

He fell over the edge, a hard shudder running through him as his release spilled over his stomach.

 

“Malik!” He cried. Malik kissed his throat with a low groan, and Bakura's flush deepened when he realized Malik was coming over him as well. He rolled his head back against the pillow, panting hard, hands clawing at Malik's shoulders until the tension wound down, leaving him an utter mess.

 

Spent, Malik's hand slipped away from the both of them and he lazily fell to Bakura's side. Bakura couldn't move, couldn't even be assed to wipe the mess off of his abdomen, mind still reeling.

 

He slowly opened his eyes again, unsure of when he had closed them, the bottom half of Malik's face greeting him. It wasn't just the haze of sex; the moment felt charged with something… else. Bakura felt a flutter in his chest as Malik tilted his chin up and pulled a slow kiss from his pliant mouth, their tongues leisurely gliding alongside each other. Malik sucked on Bakura's lower lip for a moment before drawing away.

 

The exhaustion of the day really began to set in. Malik could see Bakura fading and went to grab some tissues to clean him up, laying down with him afterwards. The two of them fell asleep, finally taking the nap they desperately needed.

 

…

 

Bakura awoke to someone hissing in pain. He glanced over to see Malik sitting in the dark, the faces of the Egyptian Gods staring back at him - no matter how many times Bakura saw the scars, they always managed to unsettle him.

 

He pushed himself up onto a sitting position as his eyes adjusted. Their ‘nap' must have lasted much longer than they intended it to. He felt groggy and sluggish.

 

“Malik…?”

 

Tension curled in Malik's shoulders as Bakura's voice reached him. He turned his head to the side slightly, but didn't completely look at Bakura.

 

“It’s nothing. I’m used to it.” His words were clipped, spoken through gritted teeth - an old wound had been torn open.

 

Bakura frowned. “Does this happen every night?”

 

He remembered how he would occasionally hear hisses and curses coming from Malik's room in the dead of night, fearing his question may have been redundant.

 

“Often,” Malik grunted, the bitterness of carrying a now worthless prophecy on his back for the rest of his life colouring his words.

 

Bakura thought for a moment. He had many scars of his own, all badges of the Thief King’s past, and an idea formed in his mind.

 

“Do you have any oil?”

 

Malik peered at him over his shoulder, eyes softening.

 

“I’ve tried some remedies.” He muttered, a thin smirk pulling at his lips. “Of course, they don’t work so well when you can barely reach the area to apply them on...”

 

“It’s a good thing you have me then, isn’t it?” Bakura pointed out, glancing away. He wouldn't see it, but Malik's smirk became a more genuine smile.

 

“Bathroom, under the sink.”

 

Bakura nodded and pushed himself off the bed, quickly locating the lower cabinet and pulling out a bottle of almond oil. He idly shook it as he walked back, sheepish and not used to freely giving out favours.

 

“You should… lay down or something.”

 

Malik seemed hesitant. Bakura didn't take it personally, however, only waiting patiently until Malik got down on his stomach at his own pace, wincing. The scars that had sealed a bond between them so long ago were now spread out for Bakura to see. He thought it ironic that he would be given them when they had no purpose anymore.

 

Then again, Bakura thought, what worth did a brand have compared to the person who bore it?

 

Malik took a deep breath, shoulders rising and falling. He sounded like he was gritting his teeth, preparing for more pain. “Don't press too hard.”

 

Bakura grunted to signal he’d heard him, opening the bottle and spreading some of the slick substance over his hands. Slowly, he touched his fingers to Malik's shoulder blades, gradually rolling them down until his palms were pressing flat against his back. Malik tensed, but gradually began to relax when he realized it didn't hurt.

 

Bakura smoothed his hands up and down Malik's back, evenly working the oil over the expanse of the scars until his back was glistening. Despite what Malik had said, the more firmly Bakura pressed, the more he seemed to sink into the bed. Bakura noticed he had buried his face into the sheets, small coos of pleasure sighing out of him with every breath.

 

“How’s this?” Bakura asked as he worked the knots out of Malik's shoulders.

 

“Mmm…” Malik groaned into the bed. There was a beat as he seemed to realize he was being asked a question. “Really good.”

 

Bakura gave a snort and refocused his attention. It was all too easy to get lost in tracing the patterns in Malik's skin. Even after the oil was absorbed, Bakura continued running his fingers up and down Malik's back, little trails of heat left in their wake. Malik certainly didn't mind, his breathing becoming even and slow as Bakura took his time exploring the canvas of his back. He gently flattened his palm at the center of Malik’s spine, fingers spreading out as far as they could reach, considering the way his handprint looked against Malik’s skin.

 

Bakura thought Malik had fallen asleep by the end of it all, his palms stilling at the base of his spine, but then he felt the body shift beneath him.

 

“Thank you.”

 

Malik's voice was a quiet murmur, gratitude bare to see. Bakura felt his breath catch at the openness of his tone.

 

_I’m the one that should be thanking you._

 

Perhaps those were words he would speak some day. For now, his answer came in the form of him brushing Malik's hair away and lowering his head to press his lips to the back of his neck. Malik breathed in, breathed out, and then turned to pull Bakura down so he lay beside him again.

 

Bakura kept one of his arms wrapped around Malik, closing his eyes and merely basking in the moment that surrounded them. His palm remained pressed to Malik's lower back, a comfortable warmth smoldering between them. His fingers traced, mapping, smoothing away the discomfort even if an edge of pain would always be there, even if it would never heal. Bakura drifted off with Malik's own fingers running through his hair, combing until exhaustion took over once more. They remained tangled, intertwined until the light of dawn washed over them both.


End file.
